Thanks For The House, Brother: Remembering Hulk Hogan (and the time I tried to get him a police escort)

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In 1985, at the age of ten, I was patrolling the woods near my house with my buddy Marco. We were playing “army,” back in the good old days where we had those big ass black plastic Rambo-sized water guns. We captured our other friend, Mike, and weren’t sure where to take him, so we brought him to my house, where my mom made cookies (as outlined under the Geneva Convention). It was there when Marco started acting out what he saw on wrestling that morning, and I knew I had to tune in the next week.

In 2000, I had started my first “adult” job out of college, working for a wrestling website called “ScoopsWrestling” under what I felt was an awesome moniker at the time, “Freakboy.” I had been writing for the site for a few years back when we were all just discovering something called an “internet,” and was brought on full time when it was purchased by something called a “Dot Com.”

In 2025, my niece and nephew come over looking to watch wrestling with me, excited to ask me if I “saw that wrestling video” they just discovered. The answer is always yes. There are few things I enjoy as a fifty-year-old man than seeing the joy and excitement in their eyes that I had at their age.

For forty years, professional wrestling and my love of it have played a crucial part in my life. None of it — None. Of. It. — exists without Hulk Hogan. Who, as the world knows, we lost yesterday.

— (@)

— (@)

The funny thing is, I was never a Hulkamaniac. I was always a Roddy Piper guy, and then I switched to the Ultimate Warrior. When Hulk turned heel and joined the nWo, revolutionizing the industry for the second time in his career, I rode with the WWF/E, and WCW was the enemy. It wasn’t until 2002 that I was lucky enough to attend the greatest match in WrestleMania history, Hulk Hogan vs. The Rock. All those years of hearing Gorilla Monsoon say, “the intensity so thick you can cut it with a knife,” I never understood it until I saw these two giants stare each other down for what felt like an eternity.

In that moment, I understood Hulkamania.

— (@)

Then there was the time I tried to get the Hulkster a police escort. It was 1998. I had worked on and off as a runner at Nassau Coliseum and was working for WCW’s Monday Nitro. During the show, Hogan was going to “announce” he was “running for president,” and they wanted to get him a police escort. The stage manager (or the guy in charge I was working for) wasn’t having any luck, so to show off, I told him I could call my cousin, who was a high-up in the Nassau PD.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to call me back, and we didn’t even talk about it until my sister’s wedding years later. Hogan happened to be in a production office, and the manager told him that I had tried. Hogan thanked me.

The best part? If I remember the rest of the story correctly, instead of a police escort, Hogan called his buddy Chuck Zito and had him bring down the Hells Angels to accompany the motorcade into the arena. If I don’t have the story accurate… that’s another tribute to Hulk Hogan!

— (@)

The impact Hulk Hogan has had not just on an industry but on American culture cannot be accurately put into words. That’s why, instead of trying, it’s better to share the memories made with friends and family, which at this point span five decades. Many of my favorite ones, whether directly or indirectly, I owe to Hulk Hogan.

Thanks for the house, Brother.

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Brodigan is Grand Poobah of this here website and when he isn’t writing words about things enjoys day drinking, pro-wrestling, and country music. You can find him on the Twitter too.

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